Impossible Things
by reenka
Summary: Because everyone has to learn not to wish for what they cannot have....


Disclaimer: Peter Pan belongs to JM Barrie, btw.

- Impossible Things.

Of all the keepsakes Wendy Darling never kept, the only one she'd missed was Peter's kiss.

The last time Peter had come back before it had been too late; something was different. Or so she thought later, when it was easier that way. It hadn't felt quite right, she would tell herself, but she hadn't been able to put her finger on it, not at all. She was simply too inexperienced.

Peter just grinned and ignored everything and anything with the force of a small hurricane, and by then Wendy thought of it as "ignoring" rather than "pretending", because Wendy Darling was all of fifteen years of age, and that was quite an age.

Her aunt looked pointedly at her bosom and expected her to "do something", even though Wendy wasn't at all sure what that was, except it had to do with growing up. That much was clear. John and Michael didn't stay up nights listening to Wendy tell stories, and Nana had gotten colicky and too tired to bound across the house chasing them. And besides, they were all too old for nannies.

Peter still came that spring, grinning that same old blinding grin and posing in the window like he thought to impress her once again. "Hullo. I am Peter Pan," he said in that lilting, almost mocking voice he'd always had before he'd quite remembered her. Secretly, Wendy thought that Peter never fully did remember her, but supposed it didn't matter if he came back. He did come back, after all. Spring cleaning was nothing to sneeze at, and a boy needed his mother sometimes. Even a boy like Peter Pan.

She grinned back and tried to distract him from things she wasn't going to spend much time dwelling on herself, like the fact that she felt rather... out of place, flying in dreary March London air with only her nightgown on. Wendy had considered putting on more sensible attire, but then remembered that she was going to -Neverland-, and sense didn't apply. She'd smiled, thinking about that during lessons in February. It was always entirely possible that Peter wouldn't come this year-- that in fact, Peter had forgotten her-- but it wasn't worth considering, because Peter always kept his word, and if you didn't trust that, what could you trust?

He was a boy, she thought, and she was a lady. Wendy still wasn't sure what being a lady meant, but she was pretty certain it meant she wasn't to be shy in front of mere boys. Try as she might, however, Wendy Darling still couldn't find it within her to truly -want- to be a Lady.

Wendy wanted to fly again, and that was almost easy, after a little effort of course.

One of the things you were supposed to learn most diligently in school was the correct application of Effort, Wendy knew, as well as Diligence and perhaps a judicious application of Common Sense.

Something told her that common sense would suggest she shouldn't be so happy to be back in the skies, John and Michael blissfully asleep in their own beds in their own room. If she laughed and closed her eyes, she wasn't fifteen at all, and that was what mattered, didn't it?

Peter wasn't the only one who was good at pretending.

Wendy thought it was a skill worth developing as much as common sense or diligence, but she didn't say so quite as much. Her father just looked her, not saying anything, and her dear mother (bless her heart), offered her another helping of waffles and cream. A growing young lady needed padding in the right places, though no one had actually said so. It was nonetheless clear what was expected of her.

And that was the problem. Padding indeed.

When she crossed her arms over her chest in exasperation, she -felt- it, and there was just something about it that was hard to forget. Padding where there was none at all, a year ago.

It wasn't anything like spring cleaning at all, sitting with Peter at the long table and listening to all the old and new adventures cunningly retold in a thousand different ways with every night. But pretending was the important thing, and Wendy pretend-dusted and pretend-swept and pretend-sorted through all the mad clutter in the old hideout. She suspected that Peter never wore socks even in snow-drifts, but she could certainly mend them anyway. An agreeable occupation was the solution to a restless mind, they said.

There was something just a little bit off, spending all this time alone by herself when she wasn't with Peter, but she'd gotten used to it. A young lady had to learn self-occupation and patience, and Wendy needed the practice very much.

Some days, Peter forgot who she was, and Wendy didn't complain. That was unseemly. She cried a little, but not very much, because crying in Neverland was a bit like screaming in church: it had entirely too many consequences.

"It's time to return," Peter said out of the blue one morning, and Wendy started. That was usually her task-- remembering. She'd thought she had a few more days, and was considering asking Peter for another tour around the lake. The mermaids were singing rather prettily for the last little bit, though Wendy couldn't be sure how long, of course. Everything was different in Neverland.

Wendy blinked and Peter grinned like he gave her a gift and was waiting for her to be happy. Sometimes she thought that -her- Peter, the Peter she remembered, never quite existed at all, and she'd half made him up in her stories afterwards, but she was always quite cross with herself after thinking so. Wendy knew the truth, and the truth was that it wasn't Peter who was different at all. She was particularly aware of her ever more ragged nightgown, semi-transparent in the bright morning light.

"Are you sure?" she said lightly, but she'd already stepped clear of the door.

He'd peered at her quizzically for a moment, and then dissolved into laughter. He was hovering a good couple of feet off the ground, and with a small push he was perched on a nearby branch rakishly. Wendy smiled a little and hopped up next to him, thinking that she missed this already and it was really too soon. One shouldn't miss things one still had. That was just unreasonable, wasn't it?

"Of course I'm sure, Wendy!" he said, his face lifted to the sky. "It's good flying weather, after all."

And of course, she had to agree. The sky was perfectly clear and she thought she could almost see where it met the ocean even from their vantage point, though that was probably only pretend.

Peter was swinging his legs to and fro, fidgeting until he finally gave up and fished out his pipes, beginning a merry tune. He usually needed something to do with his hands, Wendy noticed. This had nothing to do with-- well, anything.

"And besides," he said in between trills. "You're sad."

Wendy almost took a tumble to the ground right then and there, she was so startled. She gripped the bark beneath her palms quite tightly instead, looking at Peter as steadily as she could manage under the circumstances. "I-- I am?"

"Well, yes. The mermaids told me. Also, the fairies won't go near you anymore, haven't you noticed? There's only ever one reason for -that-, you know."

Her heart beating double-time, Wendy whispered a small "why", and Peter grinned again, his features as cloud-free as the sky. She wondered if she was really growing up so awfully fast that the fairies could see it on her, like a dark taint. Like a mark.

"It's like this," he said confidently, as if imparting an important yet harmless secret. This was how he usually said things, but for the first time, Wendy wondered if there was another way. Not better... only different. "You're a girl, yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes! So as a girl, I suppose you--" here he cringed a bit, "have... feelings, yes?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "Of -course- I have feelings, Peter!" she cried. "How could you doubt that, you--"

"And there you have it! It is my opinion that you have sad feelings, and the fairies agree. Besides, everyone knows I'm always right!"

"But why does that mean it's time?"

"Time for what?" Peter said, looking momentarily blank.

"Time to go home!"

"Oh!" he paused, looking lost. "Oh! I know!" Peter laughed. "That's easy. It's because I want you to be happy, silly. And besides, I don't need a mother."

Wendy gasped. "That's not true, Peter! You know it isn't."

"Possibly-maybe that was pretend." Peter's smile was as delightfully impish as ever, and as ever, Wendy couldn't stay cross with him. She smiled back.

"I could see it, too."

"See what, Peter?" Wendy asked breathlessly.

"I could see you forgot how to fly. Once you start forgetting, the happy thoughts fly away and they nearly always forget to return. That's what the fairies told me." Peter paused, looking almost thoughtful. "I don't know if I believe them, of course." He grinned rakishly. "There's no other choice though, is there?"

"I suppose not."

Peter shrugged, returning to his pipes with renewed vigor. He seemed in no hurry for now, which gave Wendy a strange, unexpected pang. She knew she'd be surprised again when he remembered to rush.

"Next year, then?" Wendy said after a while, blinking rapidly. If Peter saw the tears it would all be over. Peter didn't know about young ladies and silk hankerchiefs and blotting out the awful bits before they started and only leaving the pretty shining teardrops running down next to her nose. Wendy still didn't like to cry, though. It tickled awfully.

"Oh yes! I promise," Peter said solemnly, his eyes on the darkening sky. "I always return for mother!" he said. "I fly back once in a blue moon, at least!"

"But-- but that's impossible," Wendy blurted out before she could stop herself, flinching at the set, almost cold expression suddenly flitting across Peter's face. It was clear after a mere moment, but she'd never forget it.

"Nothing is impossible," Peter said forbiddingly, looking at her like he was trying to remember her again. "Only grown-ups forget."

"Really?" Wendy wished she didn't say that either, but by this point Peter had shot off into the sky, gesturing at her impatiently to follow.

Wendy caught up to him with just a little effort, and his smile was as infectious as ever. Maybe nothing was wrong, after all.

"Really! Let's fly," he called, streaking off without waiting again. Peter Pan did not wait, Wendy thought. That was as it should be.

"This isn't good-bye," Peter informed her unexpectedly, hovering a trifle impatiently outside her window. Wendy thought she recalled something about a half-finished raid with Tiger Lily on the new pirate-ship they'd spotted on the south shore. "I always remember," he whispered, not looking straight at her, and Wendy's mouth opened, nothing coming out. "But that's a secret you weren't supposed to know and now you can't tell. Promise!"

"I won't," Wendy said, crossing her fingers because there was really no one to tell secrets to besides Peter, but it was a world outside her window, and she wouldn't wait forever.

It was only after he left that it occurred to Wendy that she'd never asked when it was that blue moons actually came, though eventually, she decided that she would only have forgotten until she saw one again.

When her daughter finally asked, Wendy would say that a blue moon came the exact night when you'd given up and stopped looking for it. Perhaps it was only too telling that Jane only sighed and looked as eager for the impossible as all children are, showing she had not yet understood.

The impossible was always only pretend, and that meant it didn't stay to keep.  
~~~~~


End file.
